The Choices we Make
by Tabari Avaren
Summary: Caroline Mandler, a SixthYear Slytherin girl, must decide which side to support in the war against Voldemort: her family and her house, or the path her heart wants her to take. Dropped after publication of HBP unfinished but not WIP.
1. Bitter Arrivals

**Disclaimer:** Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. Caroline Mandler is mine (sort of).

**The Choices We Make**

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"Still studying, Mandler?" came Malfoy's drawl. He snatched my book out of my hands and studied it. "Practical Applications of Arithmatic Theory," he said, with the usual degree of sarcasm. "Sounds absolutely fascinating. Tell me, do you ever stop studying?"

I grabbed the book out of his hands, and glared. "Pansy tells me you only got five OWLs. My, but your father must have been proud – oops, I do believe I meant your mother. Daddy's still locked up, isn't he?" I smirked right back at him. I had long ago learned that the only way to shut Malfoy up was to give as good as I got.

"Don't talk to me that way, Mandler," he said, and the sarcasm was gone. He looked angry.

"Or what?" I asked. "You'll jinx me? You haven't outdrawn me since the boat ride over." I faked a yawn.

Malfoy has always insisted on having the last word, even when he knows he's lost the fight. "You know, you'd almost be pretty if you put down your books every now and then. But then, swotty little blowhard isn't my style." He stalked off towards his cronies, who were guffawing over a magazine I rather suspected was "Sophisticated Wizard." Typical of them, to be looking at porn.

I tried to refind my page, but I had lost it, and I hadn't really been taking any of it in. I sighed, and started to pursue my favorite pastime – imagining Granger dead in a number of horrific ways.

It was the first week back, but I was already obsessing. I had been obsessing about Granger for years now. I was the smartest girl in Slytherin, got the best marks of any in my house – but Hermione Granger got the best marks in the year. Damn her. We had even gotten the same number of OWLs, or so the rumour went; Hermione had passed all of her exams, and so had I. But darling Hermione had managed to score higher than myself on everything but Defense Against the Dark Arts, where I was beaten only by Potter. It does help, having a retired auror for a father.

I would outscore her this year though. I would pass everything with ease. I would finally best that muggle-born anomaly. Then maybe the whole school would shut up about what a genius she was. She didn't even have all that much power; I'm willing to bet I could curse her far worse than she me. She just spent all her time buried in books, when she wasn't making googly eyes at Potter. Which, I reflected, was exactly what I was doing. Damn.

I sighed, and got up. I didn't think I could concentrate on studying, and I'd finished my homework an hour before. I might as well go join Pansy Parkinson, holding court as typical, but the girl was so braindead it made my head ache. I am convinced that being around that girl literally kills brain cells.

The other alternative was to go join Theodore Nott and Gregory Tierce. Theodore was, at least, tolerable company. He was nearly as smart as myself, and could be witty, but Gregory was a real bore. He was Nott's double first cousin, and a fourth year; I think Nott Senior asked his son to keep an eye on Gregory. Greg needs it. He's as dim as a doorknob, and has about as much talent, too.

I sighed, and heaved myself out of the sagging armchair. Nott looked up as I sat down next to them, and nodded a greeting. I get the feeling he didn't mind my company overmuch, either. Gregory, as usual, started chattering. "Oh, hi, Caroline. Um, how was your summer, then? Mine was okay. My family went to Ireland, my father was looking for some illegal stuff, because, you know, He sent my dad. We picked up this wicked cool powdered cobra teeth. Theo came along too, see, his dad being, well, you know, locked up and all, and –"

"Oh, shut up," Theodore said. "Twit. Anyway, how was your summer, Mandler?"

"Not half bad. We went up to East Anglia, to visit my Grandmother. But Mum was unbearable – my brother, David, he finally decided to do it, become a Death Eater and all that. Mum's going on about what a little hero he is, and how he'll make the family proud, and what if he gets hurt in action, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera." I rolled my eyes.

Theodore grinned at me. "But you don't plan on joining the dark forces, Mandler?"

I snorted. "You already know where I stand on this, Nott. I'll admit, He-who-must-not-be-named has some useful ideas which should be implemented, but his method is all wrong. By using force to take over, rather than guile and politick, he will alienate too many who would initially agree to much of what he wishes to do. I mean, obviously the current system needs reform – when idiots like Fudge get in power, you know something's wrong – but in the end, a takeover by the Dark Lord will probably do more harm than good for the general wizarding population. Now, I'm not wholly opposed to the idea of a strong central government, with a permanent leader at its head, but it has to be implemented in such a way that –"

"Enough, enough!" Nott said, laughing. "Don't say that around Malfoy; he'll have your head. I wouldn't say that too loudly around anyone, actually; He's bound to take over some time or another, and you don't want him knowing that you didn't approve of his, ah, "campaign strategy," now do you?"

Gregory stared at us. I'm willing to bet he hadn't followed a single word of our conversation.

I sighed. I knew I got tiresome. God knows – not that there is a God, mind you – that I trotted out that speech often enough, whenever anyone asked my opinion on politics. I liked Nott, though. His father might be a Death Eater, but Nott was still a free thinker. Pity, for he'd come of age in only seven months, and then the Dark Lord would be bound to recruit him. "Sorry, mate. You know how I get."

Nott laughed. "No apologies, Caroline. So, how'd you do on your OWLs? I heard you beat the amazing muggle in something for once."

I grimaced. "I passed all my OWLs, received excellent or outstanding on all but History of Magic. I still haven't managed to come in first on anything yet. Little Miss Mudblood came in first in everything but Defense Against the Dark Arts, and goddamn Potter beat me out in that. I am so tired of coming in second to her!"

"Don't worry about it, Mandler. You're a damned good witch. Better than any of the other girls in this year. I will forever remain confused as to why they made Parkinson a prefect over you."

I smirked, and said, "Didn't you hear about that potions class? You were sick that day, but anyways, I actually corrected Snape in class. Got to it before Granger did, for once; she was chatting with Potter about some Daily Prophet article." I smirked, pleased with my little triumph. "Anyway, you can sure as hell bet Snape didn't like it. I got detention for two weeks, and he probably put in a word to Dumbledore about what a troublemaker I am. Still, it's not as if I wanted Prefect's duties – running around after the stupid first years, showing them how to tie their shoes and button their robes."

Nott laughed again. I was one of the few people who could make him laugh, and I was proud of that. "You know, Mandler, for someone who's always going on about the necessity of tact in politics, you'd think you'd know better than to correct a superior with real power over you."

I grinned. "It was worth it, though – the look on the amazing muggle's face when she realized I'd spotted it first."

Nott laughed again. "Do you ever give that a rest?"

"No!" I said. "I really cannot understand how she came to be so talented. Almost all talented wizards come from powerfully magic backgrounds. Potter's father was the best in the school, so they say, and the Black family goes way back – the turncoat Sirius was very gifted. The Dark Lord himself, or so the gossip runs, was descended from Slytherin himself. How a mudblood got to be so talented is beyond me."

Nott smirked. "Maybe her mother was screwing the milkman, so to speak."

I laughed. "Yeah, maybe. Denters make boring lovers, I guess."

"Dentists, Mandler."

"Whatever."


	2. An Unpleasant Breakfast

**Thanks **to all reviewers! Given that it's been almost a year since I updated this thing, it probably looked like a oneshot. It was never meant to be, but other, more interesting plot bunnies came along. Still, I love Caroline as a character, and so I've decided to keep on going with this. It's not going to be a hugely long fic – meant to only go through about Halloween – but it won't be short, either.

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**The Choices We Make**

Tuesday morning, and already I'd slipped into the pattern of Hogwarts life. Roll out of bed at seven, throw on my robes, grab a crumpet and get to class. I was the last one out of my dormitory, and when I finally got down into the Great Hall, after the staircases changed on me twice, most of the house tables were full.

It wasn't the usual atmosphere, though – Monday morning, the first day of school, had been busy and bustling, as people caught up on gossip and read over their schedules; but today was unusually tense. The low buzz of conversation did not sound at all like normal breakfast conversation, and as I made my way over to the Slytherin table, I noticed groups of people huddled over a Daily Prophet.

Over at the Ravenclaw tables, a girl was crying her heart out.

The only free seat left at the Slytherin tables was at the end, by Millicent Bulstrode. She was smirking unpleasantly as she read the Prophet, and I desperately wanted to snatch it from her hands; the girl was thick as a plank, but she – unlike Daphne Greengrass, Regina Avery, and Sonia Dolohov – wasn't a fan of Parkinson or Malfoy, so I didn't particularly want to alienate her.

When finally she seemed to be done, I practically grabbed the newspaper from her. "Sorry, Millicent, my subscription hasn't started yet…"

My apology died on my lips as I saw the headlines.

**Scottish Muggleborns Slaughtered by Death Eaters**

_At 11:00 p.m. on the first of September, Ian and Eilidh Brocklehurst were slain in their home in Kildary, Ross-shire, near Inverness. Mr. and Mrs. Brocklehurst were both of muggleborn descent. Aurors on the scene reported that the Dark Mark – the sign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, most commonly associated with executions by his Death Eaters. _

_The Brocklehursts were found dead in their homes at about 2:00 a.m., when a muggle neighbor phoned in the police. A wizarding liaison in Ross-shire informed the Ministry at around 3:00 a.m., when Aurors arrived on scene and obliviated all muggle witnesses. They then conducted an investigation of the Brocklehurst home. No Death Eaters were located in the area; Aurors suspect they fled shortly after the murders of the Brocklehursts._

_Ministry of Magic Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt told reporters that the Brocklehursts were likely killed by the Flagrantia curse, a varient of the benign Flagrate spell. In the previous war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his forces, Death Eater Antonin Dolohov was notorious for the use of this curse. Dolohov was recently captured after an attack on the Ministry of Magic, but he and twelve other Death Eaters escaped shortly after. Aurors would not reveal whether they suspected involvement by Dolohov in this attack. _

_Aurors did, however, inform reporters that they suspected that more than one assailant was involved in the deaths of the Brocklehursts. The number of Death Eaters supporting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unknown, but the Ministry suspects that there are between fifty and one hundred of these witches and wizards in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's employ, and that many more are sympathetic to him._

_Aurors have denied accusations that routine security in wizarding areas and predominantly wizarding villages in Scotland was lax on August 31st and September 1st as preparations were made for the transport of students to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Daily Prophet can reveal that in the week leading up to the start of term at Hogwarts, twelve aurors stationed in and around Inverness were pulled from the region to tighten security at Hogwarts and along the Hogwarts Express._

_Aurors have not released at this time any further information relating to the deaths of the Brocklehursts._

_Ian Brocklehurst was a well-respected employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, serving as a solicitor for indigent wizards and other magical beings. Aurors speculate that his recent work defending merpeople from infringement in their waters by wizards in the Hebrides may have prompted an attack by the Death Eaters, who aside from pushing forward a platform of He attended Hogwarts school from 1969 to 1976. He married his wife Eilidh, a healer at Saint Mungo's._

_The Brocklehursts leave behind one daughter, Mandy, a sixth-year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

It still felt unreal to read these articles. There had been other killings this summer – a muggleborn wizard in Kent, and a group of muggles were tortured and killed in Devon. I'd never known anyone affected, though. Mandy Brocklehurst was a Ravenclaw in my year, smart, quiet, and in a clique with Padma Patil and Morag MacDougal; I didn't know her well, but I'd never wished any harm to her.

And my brother might – might – have been one of the Death Eaters responsible for slaughtering her family.

I looked over at the Ravenclaw table again, and saw that she was absent, along with her friends.

Our first class of the day was Potions. Still with the Gryffindors, and still with Snape. I was curious to see what mood Snape was in after these attacks. The rumor in Slytherin was that he was himself a Death Eater, and since Malfoy was eternally sucking up to him, it seemed likely. It didn't make sense, though, for Dumbledore to hire one. He might be a prejudiced, altruistic, naïve old man, but he was nobody's fool.

Hogwarts seemed to be in a poor mood this morning; the castle kept changing the paths down to the dungeons, and I had to double back twice. Finally the castle decided to let us down into the dungeons, and I found myself walking behind Potter and his little friends, Granger's bush of hair obscuring my view of the other two.

Then, of course, Malfoy and his thugs showed up.

They walked nonchalantly behind the Gryffindors for a while, smirking, until Malfoy pulled out his wand and whispered a nasty little trip jinx. Potter dodged it, but it hit the youngest Weasley brother. He fell, flat on his face. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle guffawed.

Potter and Granger turned around, their wands out, their faces set and ready for a fight. Weasley had his wand out, too, as soon as he was on his feet.

"Tripped, did you, Weasley? No wonder, with those mammoth feet of yours. You must have to by clown shoes to fit them. Still, what can one expect from a Weasel like you?" Malfoy was laughing, but his eyes looked deadly. He wanted a fight, and he wanted to hurt someone. That spell had been aimed at Potter.

"I'd be careful what you say, Malfoy," I said, wanting to get my own back for the previous evening. "Ferrets are part of the Mustilidae family too, you know."

Malfoy's eyes glinted, but it was Ron Weasley who yelled, "I don't need help from filthy little Slytherins like you!"

Stung, I said, "Fine. I won't bother in the future, Weasley." I brushed past him, but I could not help but see that Potter looked upset as I shoved my way into the Potions classroom.

I tried not to care as we waited for Snape. I'd been stupid, rash, reckless – I hated Malfoy, but I was already an outsider in Slytherin, and I didn't need to become even more alienated. None of the other houses would want to associate with me, anyway – and the murders last night had only cemented that.

I sat alone at a table, and glowered at everyone. There was hardly anyone in the NEWT potions class – myself and Malfoy from the Slytherins (Crabbe and Goyle just followed him everywhere; they'd left once he was in the dungeons), and four – four! – from the Gryffindors: Granger, Potter, Weasley, and Dean Thomas. When Snape walked into the classroom, his palpable fury at the Wizarding Examination Board sent shivers down our collective spine.

"So," he said, "Six students have managed to make it into my NEWT potions from Gryffindor and Slytherin. Six of you have managed to scrape" (here he looked especially at Weasley and Potter) "by the Wizarding Examinations Board and prove to me that you deserve to learn a little of the mysteries of advanced brewing." He glared at us.

"I'm sure by now your egos have been nicely inflated. You brought your OWLs home to Mummy and Daddy, who were no doubt very pleased indeed. I, however, am not here to congratulate you. I am here to drag you out of the most basic elements of brewing into the difficult, dangerous, and endlessly complex world of brewing. As of yet, not one of you has brewed a potion of any true complexity – you have followed a set of instructions, you have memorized a list of ingredients, and you haven't given a single thought to what the directions **mean**. NEWT potions will rectify that." He stared at us again, his black eyes fixing each of us with an uncomfortable glare.

"Most of you will leave this course by Christmas, I don't doubt. You will fail and fail again when faced with any truly challenging potions problem set to you. By the end of this year, if there are even half of you present in this room, I shall know I haven't been doing my job." He smirked widely, and looked at Potter again. I had the distinct impression that the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't be one of the lucky three in seventh year.

Finally out of his lecture mode, Snape got full swing into his first lesson of the year. "Sixth year potions is a rigorous course centered around potions theory. For the first time in your life you will be asked to innovate in your brewing. Now that we are rid of your less able companions, the risk of death or permanent incapacitation is significantly less, but I have lost students to incorrectly-brewed potions before. There may be no incantations in this classroom, but that does not lessen the danger of experimental brewing."

"Our first study this year will be centered around projects that you will all be working on until Christmas holidays. You will be assigned a partner and will work with them to create an original potion I will assign you."

Groups. I hated groups. I hated working with partners. If they paired me up with Weasley or Malfoy, I thought, I might just die on the spot.

"Thomas and Weasley," Snape called out. I groaned. I could have tolerated Thomas.

"Potter and Malfoy," Snape said with a smirk. Both looked horrified and disgusted, but Malfoy slowly began to smile. No doubt he'd enjoy the opportunities that long hours together in a library would afford; but then, Malfoy had always overestimated his abilities as a duelist.

And then – that meant that I'd be working with – "Granger and Mandler," Snape read out, and I let my head fall forward onto my desk. Great. Just what I needed.

I considered moving, but decided it was more amusing to watch the little mudblood gather up all her books and totter over to my table, balancing her cauldron on top of everything else. She sat down with a clatter, and stacked her things right next to mine. We stared each other in the eye, suspiciously. We both knew how close we were in our scores – Granger had been on top for the past few years, true, but I'd always been right behind her.

Snape had to be crazy, I decided. Potter and Malfoy? One would end up dead before the end of the week. Granger and myself? He knew how deep our rivalries ran. He was trying to get people killed!

Still, I had to make the best of this – and with our combined talents, there was a good chance that we'd both make it through the class alive. We might even make a truly useful potion.

I can't help it; I'm a swot, and I freely admit it. I love books, I love learning, and I love theory. I don't know so much about Granger – I think she does, too, but with her knowledge is something that you need to do what you want, rather than a desirable thing in and of itself. Anyway, I found that I was looking forward to this assignment. It was just cool – the coolest thing I'd ever done in any class. Making up a potion? I mean, I knew about theoretical spellwork from my other classes; Flitwick himself was the author of several original spells, and I think McGonagall has taken out a patent on one of her transfiguration algorithms, but they'd always told us that such things were terribly dangerous for students and fullgrown wizards alike. People got killed that way – hadn't the Lovegood woman died in some stupid charm to illuminate snorcacks?

God, I'm rambling. Always do.

So when Snape came around with a small slip detailing our assignment, I snatched it first, and read it eagerly while Granger glared at me over her cauldron, peeved that I'd gotten to the instructions first.

_You are to construct a surface-applicable potion which will cause items to become invisble. The potion is to operate within specific parameters. Please devise an original potion which will operate within a given time period, to be detailed exactly in an explanatory essay handed in with the potion by no later than December 18. The essay should contain a recipe, a summary of the process in which the potion is made, an explanation of the potion's intended effects and possible side effects, and a detailed explanation of how and why you discovered the correct solution for this potion._

When I was done reading (and re-reading, and highlighting) I handed the instructions over to Granger, who was by now seething, her foot tapping angrily against the ground. She scanned it quickly, her mouth forming an exaggerated 'O' of surprise, and then reread it more slowly.

When Granger was done she looked at me, her eyes alight with fervor. "Oh, but this is going to be exciting! I do love experimentation – have you done any theoretical work yet?"

I hadn't. I glared over the table. Granger was deliberately rubbing in the fact that she was everyone's favorite student, and so could get away with messing around with experimental charms. I wanted to scratch out her eyes.

"Mm, I've tried not to get my head blown of yet, Granger. Anyway, invisibility – invisibility isn't too difficult. I mean, it does take a bit of talent, but the theoretical work behind making objects invisible is well-established, so a little research ought to suffice there. Now, for the timing, I was thinking that some practical arithmancy –"

Granger, the showoff, cut me off. "Oh, yes, like how Professor Vector was saying last April about the relations of numbers to magic? About the connotations of numbers in non-wand magic, like Herbology and Potions? You know, I think she mentioned that the number seven has been related with binding. Now, if we applied the theory of binding to a specific time – like binding the potion when applied to a certain time in the future…"

It was my turn for one-upmanship. "Oh, yes, I see what you're getting at, but I think that the number thirteen is more closely associated with time – especially with endings. Now, in combination with a powered seven, that might produce the desired effect. I think, however, that this potion will rely strongly on intention by the brewers. We'll need wanded magic in combination, I think, don't you?"

Granger glared at me. She'd forgotten about the number thirteen, I felt sure, and I absolutely glowed with pride. I loved topping her in classes – and I rarely got the chance.

We were in arithmancy together, though, and we'd always been neck-and-neck for the top grades in that class. She, of course, did better than me – I tended to do better in class, especially when applying concepts to actual spellwork, but she was best at written assignments and on tests.

My reverie, and our scholastic competition, was cut off by Snape. "I trust you've now had a chance to review your assignment. I shall not waste more of today's classtime, however, as you doubtless haven't any idea where to start. Today we will delve a little further into the world of theoretical potions."

He proceeded to lecture us on the differences that stirring clockwise versus stirring widdershins would have on potions, and we all took frantic notes, as Snape never explained anything more than once.

I'd picked up my bags and was heading out the door when Granger grabbed my arm. I spun around, my short black hair momentarily in my eyes. "What do you want?" I snapped.

Granger looked at me coolly. "I just thought we ought to set a date to meet together to research in the library. I'm free Wednesday evenings from seven till curfew, since I don't have prefect duties that night."

Rubbing in that she was a prefect and I wasn't! "I'm free, too, Granger. Shall we make this a regular thing?"

"Let's just see how this first night plays out, **Mandler**," the mudblood said, putting a delicate stress on my last name.

We eyed each other for a moment, and then we walked away.


	3. Mandler vs Malfoy

**Author's Notes:** Thank you, all reviewers! I'm glad you like this. I love writing for Caroline – she reminds me unpleasantly of myself at times. Chapter 4 is planned and being written. I hope to keep the delays between chapters much shorter.

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**The Choices We Make**

My sixth year was going to be a bad one, I could tell. Assigned to work with Granger in Potions, and already I'd pissed off Malfoy. I usually had the sense to wait at least a few weeks before I alienated possibly the most dangerous boy in Slytherin. But no, pigheaded, foolish, and rash, I'd chosen battles unwisely – defending people who hated me, inviting the wrath of those who barely tolerated me.

Monday evening, therefore, was hell. Classes had been tough, and I had a pounding headache. I'd been late to dinner, and so had had to sit next to Daphne Greengrass, who blathered on and on about how she'd been seeing a pureblood boy from Belgium and wasn't it exciting and what did you do over the summer, Caroline?

That had always annoyed me about Slytherin girls – Slytherins like to climb in power, and we'll do it by any means necessary. But a lot of the girls thought that they should just ride on the shirt tails of their boyfriends or husbands, rather than doing the work themselves. Stupid, suck-up, male-crazy –

I finished my shepherd's pie quickly, and headed down to the common room.

Essay for Potions on the possible effects on most sleeping draughts if stirred incorrectly. Essay for Transfiguration on the mechanics of animal transfiguration, with a detailed explanation of why it is easier to change inanimate objects into animals than it is to change animals into animals or humans into animals. Chart for Ancient Runes on the differences in meaning when runes are surrounded by start and stop signals.

I had my books out and was bent over them when most of my house came streaming in. I scared off a bunch of first years who had not yet learned which table was MY table (corner table farthest from the fire underneath the second torch) in the evenings, and generally ignored everyone.

I was halfway done with my Potions essay when Malfoy came over and continued the fight I'd started. Or had he started it the evening before? In any case, he was in a poor mood, and he was looking to vent his spleen on me.

I didn't want a fight. Really, really didn't want one. I had homework to do, and I never liked causing scenes – but that was exactly what Malfoy wanted.

He grabbed my Potions text, flipping through it with a nasty smirk on his face. "What, Mandler, not hanging around with your little Gryffindor friends? Not chumming around with your swotty little mudblood friend down in the library?" He said it loudly, trying to attract attention, and he did. Pansy Parkinson and her friends all turned around to watch me, Regina Avery's mouth hanging open. She had a bit of salad stuck to her teeth, though given her immense weight I was surprised she didn't stick to an all-pudding diet.

Nott, too, was watching warily.

"Give me my book back, Malfoy," I said. I wanted to scream at him, but I still thought I could get out of the mess without causing too much of a disturbance.

"No, I won't, Mandler, not until you tell me, until you tell all of your housemates, why you're running around with Gryffindors!"

That got attention. People started whispering, a malicious glint in the eyes of my less friendly acquaintances as they spread the story of what had happened at Potions today. The unfairness of it stung me, and I got to my feet, knocking over the inkwell all over my Potions essay. Swearing, I vanished the mess, and looked up at Malfoy just as he shoved me.

That was too far.

"Fuck off, Malfoy!" I said. "Don't you have anything better to do, like bullying some first years? They're more your size, aren't they?"

He sneered at me. "And Gryffindor bloodtraitors are your type, are they? At least some of us maintained proper wizarding pride!"

"I told you to fuck off. I have no more fondness for Gryffindors than I have for you, and if you don't get out of my face I'll hex you into next Thursday!"

Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles and looked menacing. "Oh, I'm so impressed," I said. "You're going to send your little goons after me, are you? All you are, Malfoy, is a strutting little peacock who thinks his father gives him the right to treat everyone like house elves. I'd like to see you take me on yourself, rather than sending those two imbeciles after me!"

I was losing it. Rage was pouring up over me, and I was losing my discretion; nobody with any brains dragged the older Malfoy into arguments with Draco. One does not invoke a member of the Dark Lord's inner circle lightly.

"I don't need to take you on, Mandler. I just need everyone to know what you are. No true Slytherin would associate with the likes of you!" Draco Malfoy looked around the common room, making sure that everyone had heard this proclamation.

He was trying to ostracize me.

"Can't you even fight your own battles, Malfoy? Are you too scared to actually use your wand rather than your goons? Don't you have the balls? Oh, no, wait, just remembered – your father's are on permanent loan. Now either fuck off or fight your own bloody battles."

My wand was out now. I held the familiar mahogany rod in my hands, feeling the power in it, just itching to curse Malfoy into oblivion. I could do it. I was sure of it – we hadn't fought in years, true, but that was because of what I'd done to him in third year…

Malfoy was angry, but he was in control of himself, unlike me. "Fine, Mandler. I'll fight my own battles. You forget – having two Malfoys doesn't mean that one is dependent on the other. It means that the two together are a more formidable force than anything you've ever seen."

"You're challenging me to a duel?"

But then someone was tugging at my arm, and I turned angrily to face him. It was Theodore Nott, and he looked miserable. "Caroline, come away. I know you're no blood traitor, but I don't want to see your brains splattered all over the floor."

Wrong thing to say to me. "What, you think I can't handle this pompous, arrogant little –"

Malfoy cut in before I could finish insulting him. "Whose side are you on, Nott? Your father's a good man, but I won't stand for his son allying himself against true Slytherins with bloodtraitors and filth."

And Theodore Nott, the only Slytherin who I'd counted on not to follow Malfoy, dropped his gaze and backed away. I was standing alone, full of empty threats, against the son of a powerful Death Eater and the stern disapproval of my house.

I'd fucked up.

But when you've messed everything up, when there's nothing left to lose, you don't give up. My father was always adamant on this – he'd been an Auror once, and he railed against those who gave up, those who abandoned their principles, those who turned tail and fled once it was clear that they would surely lose – he hated them. Of course, my father's principles were directly in line with Draco Malfoy's, and he would no doubt disapprove of what I was doing right now…

"I challenge you to a wizard's duel, Malfoy. Here and now, in front of my house – MY house – which I am as true a member of as ever I have been. Let this house judge which of us is weaker and which stronger. Or haven't you the guts?"

Malfoy waved his two lackeys away, and let me step out from behind the table I'd been standing at. I strode forward, a weird clarity coming over me. I'd succumbed to rage; but I could push it away – and I needed lucidity in a duel like this.

Everyone was watching now. People drew tables and chairs out of the way, so that there was a wide, clear space for Malfoy and me. Spectators formed a ring around us, and Malfoy shrugged off his expensive black robes, handing them to Zabini, his little follower.

I bowed deeply to Malfoy. He bowed to me.

As soon as he had straightened up, I threw my first spell. I wasn't thinking to cause any real injury, just to humiliate and temporarily incapacitate him. "_Tarantallegra_!"

Malfoy blocked it easily, and people dove out of the way as it bounced off of his shield charm. Nobody ever said that dueling was a safe spectator sport.

I was halfway through incanting a jelly-legs jinx when Malfoy changed the nature of the duel. "_Reducto_!" he bellowed, and I was forced to dive out of the way as a horribly powerful curse sailed over me.

I got to my feet, but was forced to cast a hasty _Protego_ as he threw another Reductor curse at me. They weren't playful spells; he was aiming to really hurt me.

He was trying to prove to Slytherin his undisputed leadership, and that he meant business – nobody would cross Draco Malfoy in the future.

Distracted by these worrying thoughts, I barely dodged another Reductor curse, and this one grazed me. I was thrown backwards a short ways, and the crowd shoved me back into the circle. I was off-balance and on the defensive: in short, I was damned near close to losing. I had underestimated Draco Malfoy, which was criminal. I should have known – I thought besting him in some early duels when we were still children meant that I could still best him now, when he was the son of one of the Dark Lord's most powerful Death Eaters, when he had a natural taste for cruelty and dark spells…

But I'd come in close to excelling in the Defense Against the Dark Arts exams, and I'd been trained by my father; I wasn't defeated yet.

"_Silencio_!" I screamed, a moment after Malfoy sent a body-bind curse after me. I dodged it, but Malfoy wasn't so lucky; I'd cut off his voice.

Malfoy fought like a Slytherin, though. He dodged my next hex, a jelly-legs jinx, and managed to get Zabini to lift the silencing spell. Fighting dirty, but he, unlike me, could count on support from the crowd. Use every resource you've got, as my father used to say.

I wanted to win quickly, and I was scared of what a long duel might mean, so I sent a stunning spell after Malfoy. The bastard blocked it again with Protego, but the shield rippled visibly – if I could just get inside his defenses quickly enough…

I tried, twice, to hit him again with the Stupefy, and each time he blocked it, each time it ricocheted off of his shield charm towards the crowd. They always dodged it, but some of the younger students had left the common room to the dormitories, in fear of becoming injured. I was steeling myself up for another stunner – they're nasty spells, drain your energy terribly – when Malfoy, who'd been cautiously deflecting my stunners, sent a truly vicious curse my way.

"_Caedeo_!" he yelled, slicing his wand through the air viciously, a sickly yellow beam of light flying towards me. My shield charm could not block the spell entirely. My body should have been covered with slash marks, but the shield charm reduced them to mere scratches – not that there's anything mere about being covered, head to toe, in long, painful red welts.

I staggered in pain, nearly falling backwards into some of the Slytherins. There was an electric tension to the common room, now – the Slytherins had scented weakness, and like wolves they gathered near me, waiting for me to fall.

I didn't. I was in pain, but my head was still clear, and now I had a plan. I'd seen how close Malfoy's other spells had come to hitting the crowd, and I really didn't give a shit any more about the "innocent" bystanders.

Dodging another _Caedeo_ from Malfoy, I feinted to the left, moving towards a bloc of his supporters, firing off another stunner. He returned fire with a _Stupefy _of his own, but I didn't try to reflect it at him. Instead, I rolled, and the spell flew right at Zabini. The boy slumped, and angry mutters ran around the crowd – 'Mandler saw Malfoy getting aid, so she strikes back at his helper'. Malfoy looked upset for a moment, and that was what I'd been waiting for.

"_Stupefy_!" I screamed, throwing all my energy into it.

Malfoy had no time to block it. There was no way he could turn and deflect the spell in time.

The red beam of light never hit him, however. A furious Snape stood in the doorway, his robes billowing around him, and he had his wand out, blocking the charm.

"Mandler! Malfoy! To my office, now. What is thi –"

And then he saw Zabini slumped against the wall, looking pale and wan from the effects of my spell. I don't think I have ever seen Snape look more livid.

"You two! Go! My office. Wait there while I tend to Zabini. If you do a thing until I return for you I shall personally disembowel you with the entrail-expelling curse!"

I picked myself up from the floor, gasping heavily, my body on fire from the cuts, and staggered out of the common room as Snape bent over Zabini. I strode angrily towards the office, knowing Malfoy was right behind me. My instincts told me to turn, to make sure he wasn't about to curse me again, but Malfoy wouldn't be fool enough to cross Snape. Rumor had it our darling Potions Master was nearly as dangerous a Death Eater as Mr. Malfoy.

Snape's office is a singularly unpleasant place. I've served my fair share of detentions in there, and I've been reprimanded like the rest of them for being out past curfew, or for getting involved in a hallway brawl. I had never, however, been caught dueling.

Come to think of it, I should have known we would have been caught. I had lost my head. But Malfoy! Malfoy must have known – he provoked the fight, and he had kept his head clear throughout. So why…?

We sat, stiff, at opposite ends of the office, not looking at each other.

"You're dead, Mandler," Malfoy hissed.

"I'd have had you if Snape had waited a second longer," I retorted, still keeping my eyes fixed at a point directly ahead of me.

"You're the one with cuts up and down your body," he said smoothly.

"You lost concentration. They saw that – you paid more attention to Zabini than to your opponent. Stupid!"

"The house will hate you now," Malfoy said. "I worked with the Slytherins, you attacked them. You're a miserable strategist, you know."

"You forced the fight, and I nearly won. They'll see that not everybody has to be intimidated by you."

"You'll be expelled for attacking Zabini. I can get all of Slytherin house to testify that you provoked the fight, that you forced a duel. I, however, will come out of this relatively unscathed. I will have rid Slytherin of a disloyal bloodtraitor."

I said nothing to this, just stared silently at Snape's pickled frog hearts, wishing that I could cut out Malfoy's heart and shove it in brine, too.


End file.
